One Sentence
by Yeahsureyoubetcha
Summary: The harsh light of early morning slanted through an unprotected window. Trailing almost to the floor, it skidded and tumbled in the darkness before at last coming to rest on a form - the form of Colonel Jack O'Neill...


**Disclaimer:** Yep, Jack and the gang still aren't mine. I just borrow them on occasion because my imagination can't help itself.

**Time Frame:** Season Four because that's my favorite season and this is my story so... why not? This is a completely independent one-shot, no spoilers and no real back ground information needed.

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The harsh light of early morning slanted through an unprotected window. Trailing almost to the floor, it skidded and tumbled in the darkness before at last coming to rest on a form... the form of Colonel Jack O'Neill.

His face was still, relaxed to the point of appearing unconscious. His body lay stiff and oddly contorted, limbs stretched or pinned against the hard support of his surroundings. The only visible sign of life was the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Seconds passed. The light from the window intensified, its glare flaming red against his skin. In response, heavy shadows formed beneath his features, their presence accentuating every line. An eyelid twitched, annoyed by the persistent light, and a small crease darted across his forehead. O'Neill was starting to wake.

Still fuzzy with the remnants of sleep, Jack groaned. His thoughts swam, disjointed memories and sensations crashing against the walls of his mind. At length a single, clear thought emerged:

Pain.

Stinging pain, shooting pain, aching pain...

"What is this, multiple choice?" Rousing at the hoarse whisper of his own voice, the Colonel pried open one eye. Met with a sliver of all too brilliant daylight, he clamped the lid back down tight. "Argh... Okay, bad idea."

Angling his head away from the window, Jack considered his options. Instinct dictated an immediate sit-rep. Of course having just crossed 'opening his eyes' off the proverbial mental checklist, his ability to perform said sit-rep was now somewhat limited. Or should he say hampered?

Whatever the case, O'Neill gave an internal shrug and tried to focus. Wading through the overload of sensations screaming at him from every side, he considered his right arm. It was immobile from the shoulder down, dead and unfeeling. The cause for this numbness, he decided, was the heavy weight piled against his upper arm. Muscle was being smashed against bone effectively cutting off his circulation. Latching onto perhaps the wrong half of this equation, the Colonel forced himself to think. Ghosts from his high school anatomy class mingled with boring memories of Janet's medical charts and the term 'subdeltoid bursa' lept to mind. The guilty bone had been identified. With a cocky smirk, Jack envisioned the faces of his teammates were he to announce this find.

_Ha! Eat your hearts out_...

But the smile soon faded. Instinct called, demanding his attention return to the job at hand. Willing himself to comply, the Colonel moved on to investigate arm number two. This limb he found extended away from his body in a sort of perpendicular curve. Wedged against a hard plane on the left and a firm rounded shape on the right, it tingled from limited blood flow. Testing each finger, he was relieved to find them all fully functional. A drowsy arm beat a dead-asleep arm any day.

Inhaling a slow deliberate breath, Jack assessed his body's reactions. Another weight, possibly connected to the rounded mass beneath his left arm, revealed itself atop his chest. Heavy was the only word for it. There was no discomfort, no real pain or pressure, just heaviness. The constant weight made expanding his lungs difficult, but other than that the thing - for lack of a better word - seemed more or less benign.

His ribs were sound and all in one piece... or would that be twelve pieces? Twelve pieces of one? One piece of...

A growl stuck in the back of O'Neill's throat. Beneath closed eyelids, he watched his attempt at logic and prowess with anatomy crumble to dust. With a scowl he then hurried on with his assessment.

Internal organs seemed fairly happy, no screams of protest or stabbing pains in that department. Unfortunately, his back was another story. It cracked, popped, ached, and complained with even the slightest movement. Of course, given that he was slumped into something between a haphazard 'S' and a wobbly 'C' curve, the complaints weren't all that unexpected.

Next came his legs. Both were still there - a definite plus - and neither were broken - yet another plus. His right lay straight out from his torso while the left was bent to one side in something akin to a triangle. Conflicting sensations of warmth and freezing cold zigzagged along the straight one, while awakening nerves sent flashes of pain across the other. With a snort, Jack added each of these points to his growing list of discomforts.

_Wonderful_.

Even within the confines of his mind, the word dripped with sarcasm. In all honesty of course, his current condition barely registered as a two on the O'Neill Pain I Have Experienced Monitor, but it hit an impressive eight point five on the Confusion Scale. That landed it somewhere between military request forms and Carter-babble.

Scrunching his forehead into a knot, Jack switched his focus from sense of touch to sense of hearing. Perhaps if he listened hard enough, the sounds in the air might clarify what he was feeling.

The first noise he heard was a steady, breathy sound. It was familiar - quite familiar. In fact, O'Neill guessed he'd know that soft, antihistamine-dependent, glasses-pinching-my-nose snore anywhere.

_Daniel... So, one archaeologist alive and kicking. This is good._

Studying the sound a bit more, Jack traced its source to the right, suspiciously close to the dead zone encompassing his arm. The same dead zone where that mysterious something-or-other had taken up residence and crushed the life out of his subdeltoid bursa. Coincidence?

While he lay considering the worth of this point, a mechanical hum stabbed into his thoughts. Like a precise roll of thunder, it rumbled through the air and sent vibrations stuttering across the floor. The tremors carried into O'Neill's legs, agitating dulled nerves and sending prickles of electricity crawling along his skin.

A pin cushion. That's what he felt like, a pin cushion. Usually that would mean he was in the infirmary; safe yet miserable in the needle-rich clutches of Doc Fraiser. But this was not the infirmary. Of course whether or not _not _ being in the infirmary at this point was a good thing, Jack had yet to decide.

Forcing himself past this purely academic reflection, the Colonel tested his sense of smell. Whiffs of an elusive fragrance teased his nose, along with the scent of smoldering ash. The latter was but a tinge in the air - a smokey hint he might very well have overlooked, had it not been so familiar. Years spent around camp and hearth fires had trained his nose well. Not that it helped him much now. He'd learned long ago that burning alien oak or pine smelled no different than earth oak or pine. Sort of the tree-scent's answer to "it tastes like chicken."

Beneath the weight on his chest, Jack heaved a sigh. He was getting no where. One "dead" subdeltoid bursa, an achy back, Daniel, imaginary needles, and smokey chicken trees... this was not progress. But never say die, onward and upward, and all that sort of thing. There was still that other fragrance in the air, perhaps it held the answer...

The smell was subtle - soft, clean, with just a touch of citrus. Its presence stirred his sensory memory and brought a flash of recognition. Fiery blue eyes, blonde tomboy hair, and lips spinning astrophysical theory, circled like a whirlwind through his thoughts.

That scent was Carter.

Before he could come to grips with this revelation, Jack felt movement. The rounded mass aligned with his left arm shifted, as did the heaviness across his chest.

"Carter?"

The feeling of a hand traveling across his mid-drift answered this question. A sleepy whimper followed, along with the sensation of fingers curling into the folds of his T-shirt. As the material pulled taut, Jack felt the owner of said fingers nestle deeper into his side... a true Carter-nestle if he'd ever felt one.

_Huh_...

On some level, Jack realized he was smiling. On another, he realized he probably shouldn't be. Being turned into a pillow by your second in command was not supposed to be an enjoyable experience. Annoying perhaps, but not enjoyable.

_Annoying. Right_...

Tremors once again derailed his thoughts. Stuttering across the floor in shorter more jarring bursts than before, they nagged his stiff, aching body. The mechanical hum increased as well, rising in pitch until it almost whined. As the new tone reached his ears, O'Neill had the uncomfortable feeling he'd experienced all of this before. Heard it, felt it, sensed it... he must have.

Remember. He had to remember.

Slowly, images began to swirl. Memories engaged, thoughts fell into sequence, and reality locked into place. Sudden and complete clarity.

_Oh, fer cryin' out loud!_

With a mental smack to the head Jack opened his eyes. There, before his wide and now fully awake gaze, was his living room - empty pizza boxes, monopoly board, scattered DVDs, and all. Against his back stood the couch, beneath him the wooden floor, and across his legs a haphazardly thrown blanket. Melted against his right shoulder was Daniel, as suspected - glasses askew, mouth ajar, and both hands clutching a sofa cushion...

Yeah, no idea...

The mound on his lap that curled outward beneath his arm was indeed Carter. Not that he'd had any doubts on that score. No one felt quite like Carter.

That left only the mystery of his shaking floor, for which he knew there could be but one answer... it was the Jaffa. His Jaffa. Six foot two, muscle bound, enemy eliminator, Master Teal'c Jaffa. The one team member who failed to appreciate O'Neill's makeshift pillow qualities. The one currently stretched across the full length of his recliner, the chair's internal vibrator set on maximum.

Source of tremors now identified. _So much for that intergalactic crisis_.

With a smirk and a half-hearted eye roll, the Colonel flopped his head back against the couch. His body followed suit, relaxing into a somewhat deeper slump in hopes of relieving a pressure point or two. He knew it was a bad plan, like most plan A's, but for the now it would just have to do.

Thus resettled, Jack sighed, his fingers mindlessly stroking Carter's arm. "If the Goa'uld could see us now, eh kids?"

"Bad for the image, Sir?"

A soft smile pulled at Jack's lips. _Carter_. A very un-awake Carter at that. "Yes, Major," he whispered. "Very bad. Something like this... might even cost us the war."

"Umm... well... let's not tell them."

His genius... who else could save the world in just one sentence?

"Okay, Carter. Let's not."

And with that, the Colonel drifted back into a warm, contented sleep.

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**THE END**

**Author's Note: **Well there it is. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's not much, but I hope you enjoyed it.

Also, I'd like to thank **NoraAnne1929** and **lbindner** for all of their wonderful support and encouragement! Without you this probably still wouldn't be finished. Thank you!

And last but not least, I want to thank the one responsible for inspiring this story in the first place. Namely, Hoppy (my dog). Have you ever awakened to find yourself pinned in bed by your adorable 70 pound Catahoula Lab? I never did think my arm was going to wake up...

Well take care and thanks again for reading! :)


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